


you're dino-mite

by bkreed



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, and hard of hearing courfeyrac, starring paleontologist combeferre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:44:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3364778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bkreed/pseuds/bkreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre goes to Southern France for three weeks and Courfeyrac has no chill whatsoever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're dino-mite

**Author's Note:**

> i guess this is sort of a belated valentine's day fic! i haven't really written anything les mis so i was super excited to finish this!!

It’s seven-thirty in the morning and Courfeyrac has already downed two cups of overpriced coffee. Neither he, Enjolras, nor Combeferre are morning people and yet, they manage to arrive at the train station fifteen minutes before Combeferre’s train departs. They stop rather abruptly on the platform – ignoring the spiteful side-eyes from numerous strangers – and Courfeyrac drops Combeferre’s hand. He turns on his heels and stands on his toes so he can give the taller man a hug.

“’ferre, you better enjoy your dinosaur extravaganza,” Courfeyrac mumbles into his shoulder, wrapping his arms around his neck. He feels the way Combeferre’s fingers twist themselves into his hair, and the way Combeferre’s chin rests atop Courfeyrac’s head. “Especially since you’re leaving us behind.” After a few more moments pass, Enjolras taps Combeferre on the shoulder in his own way of asking for a hug. Courfeyrac continues speaking as Combeferre and Enjolras say their own good-bye.

“You’re leaving us for three weeks—three weeks! Enjolras is gonna cry the moment the train departs.” Courfeyrac laughs when Enjolras’ furrows his brows, long blonde hair molding itself against Combeferre’s shoulder.

“As much as I love you, Combeferre, I’m not going to cry,” Enjolras says, pulling away from Combeferre. He looks up at him and smiles fondly. “You’ve been fascinated with dinosaurs since we were twelve. If anyone deserves a chance to shadow paleontologists for three weeks, it’s you.”

Combeferre grins. “I’ve only been waiting eleven years.” His fingers are tapping anxiously against the strap of his bag.

“And now you only have to wait five more hours!” Courfeyrac exclaims, latching himself back onto Combeferre’s arm. “And I won’t even text you for the  _entire_ train ride there so you can read your nerdy fossil book. But you should text us when you get there. And take pictures.”

“I’m not sure if I can take pictures on-site, but I’ll snap of few of the grounds and outside the lab. I’ll Skype you two tomorrow night?” Combeferre asks as he runs his fingers aimlessly through Courfeyrac’s hair. “At about seven?”

“At about seven,” Courfeyrac and Enjolras reply at the same time.

Enjolras continues to speak as he pulls his phone out of his purse. “Your train does, however, leave in about nine minutes and I suggest you go find a seat away from young children.”

The three exchange hugs and farewells once more, and Combeferre disappears through the doors of the train. 

Courfeyrac sighs. “I wish we could have a movie-moment where he sits by a window and we chase down the train as far as we can, waving good-bye,” he says. “You’d be crying.”

“He’ll be back in three weeks, plus we have Skype, texting, and emailing.” A pause. "And I would  _not_ be crying."

“Yeah, but – I don’t know. We haven’t been apart this long in what, five years? Not hearing him grumble in the morning about coffee will be weird.” Courfeyrac jumps when the train whistles; he and Enjolras follow the train with their eyes as it begins moving, and stand still until it’s completely out of the station. “I know you’ll sleep when we get home, but I’ve had too much coffee and can’t sleep after I’ve already woken up. I’ll make some coffee when we get back and leave some for you, okay?”

Enjolras complies, and the two of them latch hands – their own safety precaution in the hordes of fast-paced Parisians – and begin the walk back to the apartment they share with Combeferre. Courfeyrac releases Enjolras’ hand once they leave the station and quickly pulls out his phone.

_[to: ferre] have fun, u big nerd <3 !!!_

_[from: ferre] You broke your ‘no texting’ promise ten minutes after I left._

_[to: ferre] i’m weak_

_[to: ferre] enjolras says to tell u he did not cry_

_[from: ferre] Tell him I’m proud._

_[to: ferre] will do!! bye, ferre (for now)!_

_[from: ferre] Bye, Courf._

(They’ve been back at the apartment for an hour, Enjolras fast asleep in his room, when Courfeyrac receives the next text. He grins at his phone over a cup of coffee.

 _[from: ferre]_   _Courfeyrac, I’m so excited right now. I’ve had to stop myself from smiling to myself because people are always judged for smiling to themselves on public transport._

_[to: ferre] <3 i’m so happy for u right now_

_[to: ferre] just don’t leave us for some cute paleontologist ok_

They text for the rest of Combeferre’s trip, his book long forgotten.)

\--

“Enjolras, come say hi to Combeferre!” Courfeyrac says on the fourth night of Combeferre’s trip. Courfeyrac and Enjolras just ordered Indian takeout from a local restaurant and Combeferre just came back up from dinner with the other students.

They’d fallen into a routine quickly. Combeferre would come up from dinner at night at around 6:20pm; he’d shower, and then call Courfeyrac on Skype. His hair is currently still wet from the shower, and his glasses are slightly fogged up from the remaining steam (because Combeferre  _never_ shuts the bathroom door when he showers, no matter how many times Enjolras and Courfeyrac scold him about their frizzing hair) but he’s smiling.

Enjolras comes over and bends down over Courfeyrac’s chair. A piece of his hair falls out of his bun. “’ferre. How’s it going?”

“It’s – it’s wonderful, really. We're doing tasks from early in the morning to dinner. There’s a simple lineup for the next three weeks. The first week is spent in labs, taking tours, taking notes, and occasionally using a microscope. The second and third weeks are dedicated to on-site research.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes shining with excitement. “Which is where the actual fossils are.”

“That’s great, Combeferre, I’m glad it’s going as you planned. I dare ask if there are any downsides?” Enjolras asks.

“Well, wakeup call is seven in the morning, which,” Combeferre chuckles, “as you know, is a tad early for me. They do, however, have coffee in the lobby of the hotel, so as long as I get my caffeine fix, I’m usually good until lunch.”

“Don’t fall asleep on any eggs!” Courfeyrac adds as Enjolras waves good-night to Combeferre, promising he’ll text him before he goes to bed.

“There aren’t any dinosaur eggs, Courf, don’t worry,” Combeferre replies. He rests his chin on his hand. “Anything exciting happen today?”

Enjolras smiles when Courfeyrac begins recounting the tale of Joly's Lost Cane in great detail. He burrows himself into the couch with a few blankets, locating his phone and Snapchatting Grantaire as Courfeyrac’s voice and Combeferre’s quiet laugh fill the apartment.

\--

On the sixth night of Combeferre’s absence, Les Amis are at the Musain for the weekly meeting. Feuilly has taken over Combeferre’s note taking role, but everyone notices how off balance it feels without Combeferre. Courfeyrac has been texting him the majority of the night, though, updating him about Enjolras’ speech and telling him which parts they’ll need to tweak once he gets back.

Courfeyrac barely holds back a peal of laughter when Combeferre sends him a screenshot of the puns Joly has been sending him.

“Joly, you’re sending daily dinosaur puns to Combeferre?” he asks, showing Joly the picture. The recent text (“ _Diplodocus? More like DiploDON’Tcus AMIRITE????”_ ) shines on his screen. Joly laughs to themself and puts their glasses atop their head.

“Yeah! They’re super easy to find, I just Google ‘dinosaur puns’ and there’s like, a list of thirty of them. I thought Combeferre would appreciate them.” Joly giggles again. “I think he does.”

Courfeyrac nods, typing out a reply to Combeferre ( _“joly is glad u appreciate their sense of humor”_ ). “Can I choose which one to send next?”

“You text him constantly and Skype him every night! I get to choose which puns to send on which days of the week, thank you very much,” Joly finishes, then they add, “But I guess I could send you a list and you could tell me your favorites of them.”

“Courf, you’ve been talking to Combeferre this entire night?” Grantaire asks. His eyebrow is raised, the corner of his lip pulled up into smirk. “Is that why you’ve been smiling at your phone for the past hour and a half?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “I… guess? I didn’t realize I was smiling at my phone. Do you guys want to talk to him? I have my laptop in my bag, I’m sure I could video-chat him. I’ll just ask him real quick.”

_[to: ferre] i’m with the others_

_[to: ferre] would u be ok to skype real fast?? just say hi to them??_

_[to: ferre] jehan has xyr pouty face on, u can’t ignore the prouvaire pout_

_[from: ferre] Sure, let me dry my hair quick._

A few minutes pass and Courfeyrac has his laptop out, already logged into Skype and calling Combeferre. The obnoxious ring dilutes when Combeferre clicks accept, and his face fills the screen.

“Hey, friends.”

Everybody replies with some variation of “Hello, Combeferre” at once, and Courfeyrac slinks out of the screen to give everyone else more time with him.

“How’s Jurassic Park?” Bahorel asks from the side.

 “No recreation of dinosaurs, thankfully, not from what I’ve been shown.” Combeferre replies. A grin tugs at the corners of his lips. “You’re more likely to be eaten alive at law school.”

Courfeyrac watches fondly as each of his friends have their turn conversing with Combeferre. He’d turned down his hearing aid earlier, so it wouldn’t be oversensitive with all the noise, so he doesn’t quite pick up on every single sentence spoken, but Combeferre’s smile tells all. He’s completely in his element in southern France; he’s surrounded by other people who have the exact interests as him and Courfeyrac adores the way Combeferre’s face lights up as he explains the microscopes to Feuilly, or the endless notes he’s already taken in the journal Jehan gave him.

Grantaire, having already given a small salute and “Hey, Paleoferre,” watches Courfeyrac’s gaze from his table, once Joly and Bossuet deserted him for Combeferre.

The look Courfeyrac is giving Combeferre is highly recognizable; the way Combeferre's eyes keep peering to his left in an attempt to keep Courfeyrac in his line of vision is also highly recognizable.

Grantaire contemplates pulling Courfeyrac aside and asking how he's doing without Combeferre at his side 24/7, but decides to text him about it later instead. Courfeyrac is too busy being mesmerized by Combeferre’s extensive knowledge about fossils, biology equipment, and dinosaurs.

(Grantaire texts Enjolras later that night, back when Courfeyrac has already sent his good-night text to Combeferre, and Enjolras is cozy in his bed.

_[from: grantaire] SO_

_[from: grantaire] i think_

_[from: grantaire] your two best friends are in love w/ each other_

_[from: grantaire] + they don’t realize it_

_[to: grantaire] i’m with them all the time. of course I’ve noticed. and you’re right, I don’t think either of them realize it._

_[to: grantaire] BUT that’s for them to notice on their own accord. I haven’t meddled yet and I don’t really plan on it._ )

**\--**

Courfeyrac wakes up the first Sunday without Combeferre at ten o’clock, his phone flashing and buzzing brightly next to his face.

  _[from: ferre] Hey, we need to talk. I didn’t have a chance last night._

_[from: ferre] We’re not doing much today because it’s a Sunday, could you call me around 2pm? Thanks._

_[to: ferre] ofc??? is something wrong???_

_[from: ferre] No, no, nothing is wrong. I’d just rather talk face to face._

Courfeyrac is groggy from just waking up but the words “we need to talk” have always set off an obnoxious panic alarm in his head. They are the Words of Doom; he heard them when his mother explained to six-year old him that he was half-deaf, he heard them when his first long-term girlfriend broke up with him, and he heard them more recently when he was informed that his father is chronically ill.

Bad words. He curses Combeferre’s lack of portraying emotion through text.

The day goes by slowly, and Courfeyrac spends the majority of the morning cooking lunch for Enjolras, who is still asleep, and making a list for grocery shopping. Enjolras could shop Monday, when he didn't have class.

Finally, two o’clock rolls around (Enjolras is finally out of bed, thoroughly enjoying some fried rice), and Courfeyrac logs onto Skype. He goes into his bedroom and closes the door, climbing onto his bed.

Combeferre picks up quickly.

“Hey, Courf,” he says. He’s wearing a nametag that reads  _H. Combeferre_  and Courfeyrac feels a pang of longing in his chest.

“’ferre, what’s wrong?” Courfeyrac asks immediately. “Did something go wrong?”

“No, no, no, nothing’s wrong. Sorry if I worried you. Like I’ve told you, tomorrow we’re beginning the on-site portion of the trip. I learned a few days ago that we’re actually _moving_ to the grounds- it’s sort of like a campsite. We won’t be staying in the hotel anymore,” Combeferre tells him. He takes his glasses off and polishes them. “I’m not entirely sure, but I’m assuming the living quarters will be somewhat akin to a cabin. I don’t know how good the connection is going to be down there.”

Ah, there it is.

Courfeyrac feels himself deflate a little, but is also relieved that that was the context for the Words of Doom. “Oh. So… I won’t get to talk to you?”

“ _So_ , I’m going to try my best to text you and Skype you, but I don’t know if there will even be WiFi down there.”

Courfeyrac does feel a little… troubled (?) at that, but plasters a grin on his face before he speaks. “As long as you try, it’s all good!” When he speaks next, his voice is quieter. “I couldn’t imagine going two weeks without you, ‘ferre. I miss you,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. He feels the blood rush to his cheeks, and he’s grateful for his tan skin. “So does everyone else! We all couldn’t imagine going that long without you. Like, it’s only been a week but I’m surprised Enjolras hasn’t booked a train down to Angeac himself. Although he’d probably get lost. Remember that one time we put him in charge of the pizza, and he arrived an hour late because he ‘got lost’? And to think he’s lived in Paris his whole life.” Courfeyrac hears Combeferre laugh, which seems to jump-start his heart again.

After that, the conversation continues on as most of their conversations do. Courfeyrac talks a lot, sometimes rambling, and Combeferre adds in details he forgets. By the time Combeferre tells him about the different preservation methods for fossils, it’s nearly dinner time.

“Fuck, ‘ferre, I’m sorry- dinner. I’m surprised Enjolras hasn’t come in to say hi. Hopefully he’s ordered take-out and hasn’t tried to cook anything.” Courfeyrac smiles. Combeferre catches his eyes through the webcam, and the wave of longing flows through him yet again. “I’ll let you go eat, yeah? I’ll text you after dinner.”

“Sure. Have a nice evening, Courf.”

“You too, ‘ferre. Eat well!”

“As always.”

\--

The next night, Courfeyrac finds himself at a bar with some of his friends. Combeferre’s prediction had been proven true when Courfeyrac received a text from him at precisely 7:04pm stating that Skype’s video call wouldn’t go through. He reassured Combeferre that it was okay and – hey, at least the texts were still sending, right?

(He’d pushed down the disappointment he felt rising in his chest.)

He’s been texting Combeferre for the majority of the night, his texts becoming more and more jumbled as the night goes on. Combeferre tells him he has to go to bed around 11pm, because he has to wake up fairly early the next morning. Courfeyrac, on the other hand, doesn’t have class until two in the afternoon and plans on enjoying his night.

A few shots later, Courfeyrac cuddles up against Enjolras, who pets his head and murmurs something Courfeyrac can’t hear.

“I just, God Enjolras, I miss him so much,” Courfeyrac says before he can stop himself. He closes his eyes and tries not to focus on the way his head is swirling. “I miss his nerdy tattoos and the way he pushes his glasses up on his nose when he’s embarrassed and I miss seeing him in the morning because he always looks so attractively disgruntled but then he still makes eggs for us.” Someone next to him – Grantaire, maybe? – says something along the lines of “drunken rambles” but it’s all Courfeyrac catches.

“And I still have two fucking weeks without him,” Courfeyrac finishes. He flops his head dramatically against Enjolras’ shoulder for emphasis. “And we can’t Skype anymore, either. Like, the connection is shitty so it won’t connect and I don’t know how to go two weeks without seeing his face.”

He closes his eyes and tries to think of anything but Combeferre’s face and instead catches snippets of conversations around him. Enjolras, designated sober friend of the night, says something with the words “Courfeyrac” and “lightweight” and “bed”. Courfeyrac doesn't even protest as Grantaire basically lifts him from his chair and they begin walking out of the bar together.

When he gets home, comfortably in his bed, he grabs his phone from the table next to his bed and texts Combeferre. It’s nearly one in the morning and it may look like there are two keyboards in front of him, but Courfeyrac tries his best.

_[to: ferre] missu_

_[to: ferre] i miss u_

_[to: ferre] u miss i??_

_[to: ferre] ????_

\--

The next few days go by normally – Courfeyrac texts Combeferre, Combeferre texts back, and Courfeyrac smiles at his phone awkwardly in public. It’s the second Saturday of Combeferre’s trip when Courfeyrac’s Skype is ringing at exactly 7pm.

He’s been writing a paper for his Monday class and doesn’t notice the ringtone at first; he does, however, notice the bright green phone icon shaking obnoxiously. He takes a moment to adjust his hearing aid and then answers the call with a delighted, “Combeferre!”

Combeferre’s face fills the screen, dark skin illuminated by the glow of his laptop. “The call went through, finally. I’ve been trying every night at the same time but it hasn’t worked yet,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose with a finger.

Courfeyrac grins at Combeferre and shifts so he’s in a more comfortable position. Combeferre moves slowly and, occasionally, the screen freezes. “You’re lagging a bit but I’ll take anything at this point. It’s been almost a week since I’ve seen your face- do you know how painful it is?” He laughs. “How’s dinosaur excavation going?”

And Combeferre bursts to life, explaining how there had been a display of  _Genusaurus_  fossils when they arrived on-site, which was extremely luck on their part, because finding them so abundantly is rare. He’d finally been able to pick at them himself, like a true paleontologist. Courfeyrac watches Combeferre as he explains certain procedures and equipment in more depth.

Even through the poor connection, Courfeyrac becomes highly aware of the fact that Combeferre talks with his hands only when he’s excited. His eyes follow the ink of tattoos across rich skin and Courfeyrac remembers having multiple coronaries when Combeferre announced additions to the tattoos on his forearms. Combeferre has dust on his chin and his glasses look dirty even through the webcam, and he already has laugh lines that crease at the edges of his eyes. Courfeyrac’s gaze travels downward and he finds himself staring at nice, full lips and Courfeyrac is met with the sudden urge to reach through the webcam and kiss him.

_Kiss him?_

_Oh_.

“Courf?” Combeferre shakes him out of his reverie and Courfeyrac jumps, squeaking out a gargled “Sorry!” and Combeferre laughs. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry if I bored you with the all the science talk,” Courfeyrac thinks,  _No, no, you did the opposite of bore me_ , “but I do have something that happened at lunch today that isn’t science-related.”

Courfeyrac becomes very aware of the way Combeferre is avoiding eye contact and his palms start sweating.

“What happened, ‘ferre?” Courfeyrac asks. His mind is lagging like the call and his thoughts keep reverting to his previous completely inappropriate thoughts.

“The other students thought we were dating,” and he pauses, looking up to gauge Courfeyrac’s reaction. Courfeyrac swallows and raises an eyebrow, begging him to finish. “They didn’t say you by name, but, they were… gossiping,” he makes a face at the word, “and asked me how my boyfriend was. Of course, I was initially confused, but eventually cleared it up with them that we’re just friends.”

Just friends.

The thought was sour in Courfeyrac’s mind. He’s pretty sure ‘just friends’ don’t think about yanking friends through a webcam and kissing them senseless.

Courfeyrac hums. “Really? That’s, well, that’s interesting. New, I guess?” he says, twirling a piece of his hair around his finger.

Combeferre’s silent for a moment. He runs his thumb along his lip and, shit, Courfeyrac is diverted back to his lips again.

“I was actually thinking about it later, and,” Combeferre begins; his voice is soft, “when we’re out together, even if we’re with Enjolras, you never get, um. Flirted with. I’ve noticed people hovering before, but when you go out with, say, Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire, you always come home with somebody’s number? When we’re together that never happens and I was thinking, that, maybe, possibly, strangers think we’re dating.”

Courfeyrac asks the question before he can stop himself. “Is that a bad thing? That people think we’re dating? If it bothers you-”

Combeferre shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s a bad thing, it doesn't bother me, but we’re not dating. Sure, it can come in handy to scare away the occasional creep,” Courfeyrac smiles, “but we’re not,” Combeferre finishes lamely. Courfeyrac swears his voice shakes through the last three words, but it may just be the warbled quality of the call. Courfeyrac begins to speak, but Combeferre’s head turns to the side and he’s talking to someone off-camera.

“Courf, I’m sorry, but I have to go. There’s something that our director wants to show us.” Combeferre smiles, but it looks uneasy to Courfeyrac. “I’ll talk to you when I can. Sleep well.”

“Yeah. You too, ‘ferre.”

Courfeyrac lets Combeferre end the call first because he’s too busy staring blatantly at his tattoos, which are out and proud because Courfeyrac is willing to bet it’s hot as hell down there.

After spending a few moments curled up in the fetal position of his bed, Courfeyrac shoves himself off the mattress and walks into the living area, where Enjolras is watching subtitled Ghost Whisperer reruns with a giant bowl of popcorn in his lap.

Courfeyrac flops down onto the cushion next to him, grabs a large handful of popcorn, and sighs dramatically.

Enjolras side-eyes him, holds back his own sigh, and pauses the show. He finishes his mouthful of popcorn before speaking. “Yes, Courfeyrac?”

“I think I may be a little bit in love with Combeferre.” The words feel strange in his mouth, but a good strange. It’s a sort of strange that twists his stomach but also makes him want to shout it off rooftops. “Hm. I believe I’m in love with Combeferre.”

Enjolras is quiet for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Shit, Enjolras,” Courfeyrac feels himself panic a little. “This is  _Combeferre_ we’re talking about. He’s our best friend and what would I even say to him? ‘Hey, you went on a three week trip and two and a half weeks in I realized I’m hopelessly in love with you?’ You can’t just, like. Say that to someone. Especially not Combeferre.”

Combeferre, who has tattoos of moths and Latin phrases and dinosaur fossils on his arms. Combeferre, who reads biology books with weird names for fun. Combeferre, who is on a trip to southern France to shadow paleontologists.

Combeferre, who Courfeyrac is in love with.

Combeferre, who probably doesn’t love Courfeyrac back.

Courfeyrac groans and pulls himself into a ball on the couch. Enjolras pats his shoulder.

“I think you should talk to him,” Enjolras says. He’s twirling a long strand of blonde hair in his fingers.

“I can’t just talk to him about this, especially when he’s like, 480 kilometers away.” Courfeyrac blinks, finally taking in Enjolras’ reaction. “You don’t seem very surprised that I’m telling you this.” Courfeyrac thinks for a moment “Did you- did you  _know_  I’m in love with him? How the heck could you know before I knew? How could you know when you haven’t even figured out your own feelings?”

Enjolras quirks his head at the last part. “I’m going to ignore the last sentence,” he sighs. “There’s a reason Joly calls you two a married couple. When we first got the apartment, I walked in on you and Combeferre sleeping on the couch. Well, you were asleep and Combeferre was wide awake, staring blankly at the wall in front of him because he didn’t want to get up and wake you.” Enjolras picks at the popcorn in front of him. “I just think you should talk to him. I’m not saying now, but eventually. You may be surprised,” he whispers under his breath and turns his gaze back toward the television. “May I continue?”

Courfeyrac stares, dumbfounded. He lets Enjolras resume his show, but continues playing with the phrase in his head.  _I am in love with Combeferre. Combeferre doesn’t know I’m in love with him. I am in love with Combeferre_.

_[to: R] I AM IN LOVE_

_[from: R] w/ combeferre, right_

_[to: R] U R KIDDING ME_

_[to: R] (yes)_

\--

Combeferre doesn’t message him for five days.

Courfeyrac has well accepted the horrifying, terrifying thought that he’s in love with his best friend. He’s also learned nearly every single one of his friends either knew or assumed as much. He’s allowed himself to day dream about hugging Combeferre and kissing Combeferre.

But Combeferre doesn’t message him for five days.

He sends casual texts – the whole “morning, ferre, have a great day!!! x” – and receives a “You too” in response, but the conversation never continues. They haven’t Skyped since the ‘accidentally dating’ conversation and, by the fifth day, Courfeyrac is in Full Worry Mode.

“What if I made him uncomfortable?” he asks Enjolras one day when they’re grabbing lunch at a local café. “What if the thought of dating me is just so repulsive that he’s never ever going to speak to me again?”

Enjolras gives him A Glare and Courfeyrac shrinks, biting into his sandwich. “You know that’s not going to happen. He hasn’t texted me either – I’m sure he’s just gotten caught up in some new dinosaur discovery or something. He’s returning in two days, so you’ll see him soon.”

“I know, but- but what if, like, things are uncomfortable once he gets back? I love him. And he probably doesn’t love me back, and I was totally okay with accepting that fact for like, four hours, before I realized, nope, that would really suck,” Courfeyrac whines. He waits as Enjolras takes a long sip of soda. “And you’re really not helping much with this.”

“I gave you my advice; talk to him. You need to sort this out,” Enjolras replies. Courfeyrac squints at him.

“You should take your own damn advice,” he mumbles, quiet enough for Enjolras not to hear him. They finish their lunch, and, as they retreat back to the apartment, Enjolras shoots a text to Combeferre.

_[to: combeferre] You need to talk to Courfeyrac._

_[to: combeferre] Please. you can’t avoid him like this. talk to him._

\--

The Saturday before Combeferre is scheduled to come back, Courfeyrac is working on a PowerPoint for his psychology class. Unfortunately, the topic is ‘ _problem avoidance_ ' and Courfeyrac barely resists adding a slide stating: “go to fucking southern france and not text your best friend who is a little in love with you for six days”.

Skype pops up halfway into his PowerPoint, alerting him of a new call. Courfeyrac pauses, immediately closing his eyes because he’s afraid to see who would be calling him at seven at night.

Combeferre’s name fills the screen and Courfeyrac’s heart starts beating very, very quickly.

He adjusts the volume on his hearing aid, breathes deeply, and clicks “Accept.”

And Combeferre’s face appears on his laptop.

“’ferre,” Courfeyrac whispers, taking in the awkward slump of Combeferre’s shoulders and the astray mess that is his hair. “I’m so, so sorry if I made things awkward the last time we talked. You know me, I’m curious and I just couldn’t help myself from wondering, and I probably shouldn’t have done that and now Enjolras keeps telling me to talk to you but I can’t when you’ve been avoiding me, but like, seriously, Combeferre,  _why_ have you – “

“I love you.”

“—been avoiding me like this? It’s – wait. I swear I turned my hearing aid up before the conversation started but I think it may be malfunctioning. What did you just say?”

Combeferre sighs and runs his fingers in his hair. “I love you. I didn’t want to tell you like this, especially when I’m coming back tomorrow evening, but I needed to get it off my chest. I’m sorry if this changes things in our friendship, but Enjolras told me that I needed to talk to you. He told me I was being unreasonable, which was true. I’m sorry for ignoring you; I wasn’t sure how exactly to handle the situation, so I retreated.”

Courfeyrac hasn't breathed for Combeferre’s speech. He finally inhales when he whispers, “I love you too,” back to Combeferre, whose head immediately perks up.

“You love me too?” Combeferre asks. He’s running another hand through his hair and Courfeyrac would give anything to have Combeferre’s fingers wrapped around his own curls. “You love me too.”

“I love you too. Oh my God, Combeferre,  _I love you too_. I – I have no idea how long I have been in love with you because it was very, very sudden but right now I just know it’s so true because every time I think about you my heart does a weird little dance and I’ve just sort of accepted the fact that you don’t love me over the past week but.” But he’s wrong. “But you do love me. You’re sure you love me?”

Combeferre laughs; it’s shaky and apprehensive and Courfeyrac has never heard Combeferre nervous like this before. “At first I thought it was just longing. It wasn’t until our conversation the other night that I realized it was more. And, like I said, that’s why I retreated,” he smirks. “You’ve jokingly told me I don’t know how to deal with emotions, but I guess you were right. It wasn’t until Enjolras texted me the other day that I knew I needed to tell you.”

Courfeyrac is silent for a moment, before he grins. His entire body is shaking and his palms are sweaty, but all he can focus on is Combeferre, who has a relieved smile on his face and, although the quality is shitty and Combeferre’s skin is dark, Courfeyrac is sure he’s blushing. Courfeyrac grins wickedly.

“Enjolras is gonna cry when you get back.” And then, as an afterthought. “Actually, I may cry when you get back.”

“Enjolras won’t cry,” Combeferre replies. He smiles. “But, I’ll be sure to wear my rain jacket.”

They talk for the rest of the night; Enjolras stops by at one point to say hello and, “Judging by the fact that you’re both smiling, I’m glad you listened to my advice.”

When Combeferre dubs it time to sleep, Courfeyrac says, “I love you, good night, and sleep well!” to him. His stomach flutters and he can't hold back the huge grin that floods his face.

Combeferre yawns and smiles right back at him. “I love you too, Courf. Good night.”

Courfeyrac falls asleep knowing that he’ll see Combeferre the next day.

\--

“Come on, slow poke! His train arrives in one minute and it’s on schedule and I don’t want ‘ferre to get off the train and not see my – our – beautiful faces.” Courfeyrac is nearly sprinting through the train station. One hand is latched on Enjolras’, who, despite having longer legs, is falling behind. Courfeyrac hears Enjolras grumble something behind him, but they reach the platform just as the train is stopping.

Courfeyrac is bouncing up and down on the toes of his feet. His heart is racing a million beats per second and he really wishes he were taller so he could see above the crowds of people exiting the train. Thankfully, Combeferre is much taller than many of said people, and Courfeyrac is able to spot him.

“’ferre!” Courfeyrac lets go of Enjolras’ hand and runs toward Combeferre, who nearly drops his sac in the attempt to return the hug. Courfeyrac melts into the embrace and burrows himself into Combeferre’s shoulder as his fingers play with his hair. The height difference gives him the perfect nestling point.

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre says. Courfeyrac pulls away and looks up at him, smile so wide his cheeks hurt. And no, his eyes are most definitely not watering.

“I hate to be _that_ cheesy couple,” ‘couple,’ Courfeyrac’s heart swells when he says the word, “but I’m going to kiss you in a station completely full of random people, okay? Like the movies.” The words tumble out of Courfeyrac's mouth before he can stop them and he giggles nervously. Combeferre, bless him, nods almost immediately after Courfeyrac speaks and leans down. Courfeyrac almost has to stand on his tiptoes in order for their lips to meet, but then they do, and his heart beats extraordinarily faster. He smiles against Combeferre's lips - Combeferre, who smells faintly of dust and cologne and whose lips are slightly chapped from the long train ride. It's awkward in the way that he's highly aware he's kissing one of his best friends, but it feels  _right_. Their lips fit together nicely and just a short kiss has Courfeyrac yearning for more.

He wraps his arms around Combeferre’s neck, aiming to deepen the kiss, but Enjolras clears his throat. They pull apart, both flustered and Courfeyrac is sure he's blushing. A nervous giggle spills out and Combeferre can do nothing but grin down at him.

“I missed you too, but I’m good with just a hug," Enjolras says. He's watching the two of them with a faint smile. 

The three of them walk out of the train station holding hands.

(And if Courfeyrac and Combeferre continue to hold hands through the streets of Paris, well. They’ve waited three weeks; Courfeyrac thinks they deserve it.)

 


End file.
